


Minds Innocent and Quiet

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Sirius in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5932141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape, on a mission for Dumbledore, faces down his demons in the prison of Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minds Innocent and Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

He had never served a day on Azkaban.

Not a day, not an hour, not a minute. The old man had kept his word in this, as he had in so many other things. Dumbledore had protected him when the time came, shielded him with all the power and reflected glory of the most revered man in the wizarding world. No, Severus Snape had never been so much as threatened with Azkaban. It was both point of pride and sheer, unmitigated relief.

And also the cause of the frequent nightmares that left him too drained even to scream, but that was not something to dwell on outside of his dungeons. Especially not on a small boat riding on the rough, choppy waves that beat against the grey walls of Azkaban.

Besides, Dumbledore promised that the nightmares would come less frequently with time, and counseled him against relying too heavily on his concoctions. Severus trusted Dumbledore. He had to.

It was an honor, of a sort, to act as Dumbledore's representative in this small matter. Only in greatest need would the old man set foot on Azkaban. The Headmaster's disapproval of Azkaban- and, more specifically, its dementor guardians- was well-known throughout the wizarding world.

Dumbledore's last, lingering prejudice, Severus mused. Perhaps not even Albus was perfect.

Most people considered Dumbledore's views on Azkaban to be just another one of the old man's endearing eccentricities. Severus wasn't entirely sure. True, the dementors weren't to be trusted, but they served a purpose. There were some crimes that could only be repaid in coin of blood or soul.

_Like your own, Death Eater?_

Severus ignored the mocking voice in his mind- a voice that took on familiar, hated inflections as the moon waxed and waned- nodded brusquely to the wizard who had captained the boat, and stepped into the vast silence of Azkaban.

Silence. He had expected bedlam, prepared himself for screaming without end, without hope. The silence, thick and oppressive as the grave, unnerved him, and he suppressed a shudder. He didn't know what to make of it.

_Only the new ones scream, Snape. The old ones don't have enough soul left for it._

Where had he heard that? Childhood tales of Azkaban, no doubt- young boys bragging and posturing and trying to impress each other with their knowledge. This tale appeared to be true.

The hissing drag of cloth on stone warned him, and he turned as the dementor approached. The hooded creature's aura enveloped him, and this time he did shudder. Memories of screams and pleas rose unbidden in his mind, and he forced himself to endure until they faded to whispers. The dementor raised a glistening, corpse-like hand, and motioned for him to follow.

Walking quickly through the dimly lit hallways, Severus was almost able to pretend that he was alone in this place. The occasional chill as a dementor brushed by, the rare moans or whimpers coming from afar, and the rustling as the prisoners shrank deeper into their cells at their passing were the only things to pierce the illusion. None of them even looked up, Severus noted. No danger, then, of being recognized and denounced by any of his old- companions. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. He knew his crimes.

The feeling of despair grew steadily, and Severus realized that he must be in the high-security wing, that there were dementors everywhere. He shivered again, hating himself for it, but unable to control it. It occurred to him- for the first time, the more fool he- that the honor of being Dumbledore's representative was double-edged. A warning, the steel under the velvet, of what could have been. Could still be- a traitor once, a traitor forever, despised by both sides. The old man was eminently practical, and never had just one reason behind his actions.

No. Dumbledore trusted him, had made that clear any number of times. It was the influence of the dementors that gave him such thoughts, nothing more.

A meeting. A quick meeting with the human warden of Azkaban, and then he could leave and try to forget. Severus was surprised by his fierce, sudden wish for sunlight of all things, he who chosen to make his home in a windowless dungeon. A very quick meeting, and then he could be gone.

The dementor paused, and Severus realized that they must be at the warden's office, right at the end of the high-security wing. Mad. He had to be mad to endure that, day after day, year after year- Severus took a few steps away from the dementor- not too far, to become lost in Azkaban was yet another one of his nightmares, one held over from childhood- and realized that he knew the prisoner in the cell he faced.

He first reaction, shockingly, was horror. He hated the man, hated him with every breath in his body, every fiber of his soul- but no one, not even he, had ever been able to deny the sheer exuberance of Sirius Black, the daredevil recklessness, the fierce, singing joy that the handsome young man had taken in life.

Not any more, oh, no. The gaunt, haunted face and wasted body were more nightmare than dream now, and the only thing that lived in the pale, pale eyes that held his own was a terrible kind of amusement, too dark for words.

_The werewolf is a monster and should be put down, but you are a criminal, Black, and you deserve to rot in Azkaban. They'll take you there one day, and throw you to the dementors, and when they do, I'll come and watch. I'll watch, and I'll laugh, because I'll know that you're finally where you belong._

But it was Sirius Black who was laughing.

Low and cracked, more terrible than even the dementor's rattling breath, Sirius Black's laughter echoed off the walls and ricocheted through Severus's soul.

This, Severus realized, must have been how he laughed when he killed Peter Pettigrew and all of those Muggles. When Black, the golden boy, had cast aside everything Severus had ever wanted as if it were so much dross, betraying the Potters to the Dark Lord after he, Severus, had risked his life to get word to Dumbledore-

_After he, Severus, had murdered and tortured in the Dark Lord's name until he found himself glutted with blood and pain and darkness, needing something else, a way out-_

The thought gave him strength of a kind, and he tore his eyes away from Black's. The warden was waiting, and he had better things to do than stare at the creature that had once been Sirius Black.

Besides, he did not know how much longer he could stare at Sirius Black in the prison of Azkaban and still remember on which side of the bars he himself belonged.

\--

Stone walls do not a prison make, / Nor iron bars a cage; / Minds innocent and quiet take / That for an hermitage; / If I have freedom in my love / And in my soul am free, / Angels alone, that soar above, / Enjoy such liberty

“To Althea From Prison” 

– Richard Lovelace

-fin-


End file.
